


CHOICE

by dvaaah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Manipulation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dvaaah/pseuds/dvaaah
Summary: In which Lúcio finally has to pick a side.





	CHOICE

* * *

 

Fitted with his soccer team's attire (the outfit he had been wearing when the hands of Talon had taken him within the comfort of their black chopper) Lúcio stood between two leagues of agents — one who could only bring _superheroes_ somewhere about their description, and the other being perfectly in tune with the common villains. 

His capture had been necessary — in the words of Akande, at least. Whilst Talon acquired the science and expertise of Moira O'Deorain, their medical department was certainly lacking. Lúcio's technology alone would have been an advancement to their institution, but Lúcio himself was a two-in-one deal. Not only would they be able to take advantage of his sonic amplifier and magical song, but they would manage to stir more conflict around the globe — particularly in the streets of Rio, with the public knowledge of their treasured little celebrity going missing. And apparently, it was all Overwatch's fault, for how could they put such a prised name in danger?

Once stark white, the musician's clothes wavered a murky wash of grey, which was an apparent allusion to how long it had taken Overwatch's remaining members to find him. A lot could happen in six weeks. His eyes were weighed down by heavy circles, and something within them — a spark — was missing. Also absent was his smile. It seemed a permanent trait of his. Even when he wasn't grinning enough for his cheeks to dimple, a warmth would always touch his lips in the form of a small curve. Now, his expression seemed empty, cold, like the Winter's chill that intruded the gaps between their sleeves. 

"I think it is best that you leave," Akande's step signalled his towering shadow to fall over the meek medic, a calloused hand touching his shoulder. Lúcio flinched, eyes adverted to the ground beneath his runners. "Your journey here today was only a waste of time. Lúcio is staying here. I think that you'll find he has come to his senses, and no longer wants to leave." 

Behind the monarch stood the tall, slender stance of the hued sniper, Widowmaker, chin tilted proudly, lips neutral and obtaining no memory of a simper. Her arms were crossed over her torso, much like the smaller girl to her side, who would honour the fluorescence of her apparel with bright, manicured nails. Unlike the vacant glare held by her associates, Sombra's glossed lip rose at the side to create an almost taunting smirk. To their left, the gingered medic stood alongside Gabriel Reyes, an honourable commander — _formally_. He shared a heinous exchange with the man ahead of him. Though the mask sheltered the authenticity of his expression and the blonde's visor covered his, their loathed feelings for one and other were still found within the air. It was the blonde, Jack Morrison, who had decided to speak, his narrowed gaze shifting from Reyes and onto the wearer of the fabled golden gauntlet. His voice was like steel. 

"What are you talking about? Lúcio doesn't want to be here. He wants to be with his friends, his family. He wants to do the right thing and stand with those who fight for the good of humanity. You'd be crazy to think he would willingly stay with you." 

"That's why we're _here_ ," Tracer chimed in, a dent between her furrowed brow being out of place in her usual sentiment. "To save him from your horrible influence." 

"Just like you saved Mondatta, _mon cher?_ " Widowmaker proceeded in a taunt that, to her, was too priceless not to act upon. The English girl's face had dropped for a moment, before it would scrunch up into a scowl again, and Winston had to hold her back before instinct guided her into attacking the careless sniper, who only showed amusement towards the ordeal. 

"Please, Lúcio. Come with us," He insisted, glasses slipping lower onto the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry that it took us so long to get to you, but I know that — deep down — you can't _really_ want to stay here, can you?"

"Don't you get it, monkey?" Reaper, despite the apparent victory for Talon, still held a certain pique in his tone. "You're too late." 

" ** _Are_** we?" Commander Morrison's fists clenched by his sides, harmonising with his taunt jaw. "If you're so sure that he'd rather stay here than come back with us, why don't you let _him_ decide?" 

"What a good idea." Akande only sneered, his confidence strong enough for him to even push the desired medic ahead, and closer to his former comrades. "Go ahead, Lúcio. Stand with who you believe you should, but remember what we spoke about. Only through conflict does humanity evolve. Your people in Rio — with our help — can grow stronger. You must think about them. You must think about the possibilities, all that we could achieve: _together_." 

Jack wasn't so composed. "Don't listen to him, Lúcio. He's just trying to manipulate you!" 

"He's right, Lúcio. None of that is true — you know it isn't." Tracer pleaded with him, brows curving, eyes soft. "You have one of the biggest hearts I've ever seen — you're too good for them, Lúcio. You're a hero." 

" _Heroes?_ Is that what you think you are?" Akande could almost laugh. "The same heroes who weren't aware of the harm their own Black Ops division was doing to the city? The same heroes who could not prevent the death of one of the most respected omnics of today's age? The ones who allowed _us_ to kidnap somebody they claimed to care about, and are only just showing up to rescue him? He could have been _killed_ by now. Do not fool yourself, little girl. You cannot offer him what we can. Power, stability, _protection._ " 

The last word had sparked an uncommon feeling within the Brazilian — his eyes, formerly flickering between the two cases, grew wider for a moment, and then a seemingly permanent gaze met his captor's. Some would assume it to be a case of _Stockholm Syndrome_ — but it went far deeper than that. Morrison hadn't been wrong when he had assumed the title of _manipulator_ to Akande's illustration, for that had been the process he'd taken over the past month and a half. He would make Lúcio feel small in his presence, vulnerable, unable to be saved. He would strip him of being bold, of being hopeful. He would make him feel too weak to fight, and then he would offer his opened arms. He would bring his sense of hope back, but only in correlation with his own name. Overwatch wasn't there. But Akande was. Akande would help him. And most importantly, he would protect him. For a moment, Lúcio could only remember curling up in the successor's lap, crying and not knowing why, whilst a large hand brought him a solace in gentle strokes to his dreaded locks. 

But he was still confused. He had agreed with everything Overwatch's agents were saying, and yet he still felt an unknown drive pulling his shoes to a standstill. Lost, overwhelmed, his hands would begin to tremble by his sides, and his eyes would shift between the two groups again in a nervous manner.

"I —" He began, barely, through a tightened throat, his vision pausing towards where Morrison stood. "I don't want anything bad to happen to me again. You guys... wouldn't let that happen, would you?"

The agents replied simultaneously, with different abbreviations of the word _no_. _('Absolutely not.' 'Never.' 'Of coarse not.')_ But when the forgotten smile met his lips again, Akande brought his attention, and his step, back to him with a clear of his throat. 

"Do not be so trusting, Lúcio. You know that trusting too much will only bring you to a dire fate. Failure is a process that will be repeated. Just as they have failed you before, they will fail you again. But tell me, when have _I_ ever failed you? When have I ever not kept my word? You do not want to put all of your trust in me," Something in his eyes shifted, "You _need_ to."

Like leaves from the trees affected by Autumn, Lucio's expression fell, his heart, and his shoulders sinking with it. Again, tears would begin to well in his eyes and fracture his vision behind their gleam, and he wasn't sure why. He wasn't sure of anything, suddenly, except for the fact Akande always felt warm, and he always felt safe in his hold, and being away from it felt like being in the middle of a snowstorm with no jacket. His tears leaked over his cheeks. His lips trembled. He felt terrified.

"Come to me, ƙauna. I will keep you safe." The Nigerian accent came to him like Spring after a cruel Winter. He couldn't fight his urge anymore. The unrecognised instinct he felt finally surpassed and left an array of shock in its trail, for the medic had ran back over to where the villain stood and buried his face into his chest. Akande only smiled, though there was something unsettling about his eyes — they stared ahead, narrowed, right into the eyes of the stunned commander, and a hand moved over the smaller's back. Lúcio's sobs were muffled, his arms holding onto the felon like he were a lifeline, and he had no intention of letting him go. In only a few moments, it seemed that Akande had driven him to a state of being entirely receptive to control.

"Lúcio...?" Tracer tried once more, and then he said it. It was voiced through tears, and it hadn't been a tone worthy of trust in its legitimacy — but it was there all the same, and it couldn't be denied.

"I want to stay here.  
Please, let me stay here."

 

* * *

 


End file.
